


reach out and touch

by whoisliina (isaacbahey)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacbahey/pseuds/whoisliina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Well, cross that bridge when you get to it, yeah? Or burn it or whatever. Just calm down for now, okay? You’ve got a World Cup to focus on.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(...) </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Mario tries very hard not to notice when the fingers start drawing patterns on his legs.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>It tickles a little bit, and it’s distracting, but most of all, it feels nice and domestic.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Jerome shouldn’t feel domestic, he should feel friendly, and so Mario stares at the screen even when he feels Jerome’s eyes on him.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>He wonders if he has to start crossing or burning bridges soon. </i></p><p> </p><p>or,</p><p>Mario suddenly faces the the reality of going to his first World Cup without his best friend. Luckily, Jerome as one of his closest friends doesn't let him mope. </p><p>Might not be that straight-forward. Or that straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. up in the air

**Author's Note:**

> I have been creating this monster for months and it's mostly ready, so it's time to let it out into the world.
> 
> This is a (fictional) timeline of (fictional) Jerome and (fictional) Mario during last summer's World Cup. 
> 
> The chapters follow the (actual) timeline of the tournament, though, so if nothing goes terribly wrong, this story will be complete around mid-July. Fingers crossed!

It feels like someone blocks his ears the moment it happens, like suddenly he’s cut off from the world.

 

Mario watches his best friend fall, a pained expression on his face, clutching his ankle already, and he knows.

 

He looks on, horrified, as Marco is pretty much dragged off the pitch, and feels a lump in his throat. He wants to believe it’s not a huge deal, that Marco will sit next to him on that goddamn plane tomorrow, but he knows.

 

Marco isn’t coming to Brazil.

 

The end of the first half is a daze. Mario feels completely lost and confused and scared. He barely registers the half-time whistle and walks - or more like stumbles - off the pitch, feeling drained. He almost wants to be subbed off himself.

 

He hardly feels it when Jerome wraps an arm around his shoulders. Jerome is one of his closest friends, and he knows how close Mario and Marco are better than anyone else here, perhaps Mats and André excluded. He doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t know what to say, none of them do - but it’s somehow comforting nonetheless. Tethering.

 

When they walk in the locker room, pretty much the last ones to get there, everyone lifts their gaze and then diverts it quickly. They are all in pain, it’s tangible in the sweaty warm air, but none of them is as shocked as Mario and they’re all aware of that. Mario still feels a few pairs of eyes on his back when Jerome takes him to his locker, though - they’re all probably worried about him.

 

Jerome leaves him alone for a little while, but is back soon, sits next to Mario, slips an arm around him again. Now, he talks.

 

“How are you feeling?” he asks honestly. He knows, of course, or at least guesses, but letting it out might be good for the younger man.

 

Mario thinks for a few seconds.

  
“Lost,” he says, then.

 

Jerome winces and Mario finally looks at him.

 

“He’s not coming, is he?” he asks, looking for hope even though there isn’t any, and Jerome won’t give him empty promises. He still looks pained when he replies, “I doubt it.”

 

Mario lets his glance fall and sighs deeply. Jerome’s grip on him strengthens.

 

“You’ve gotta keep going, okay?” he says quietly into Mario’s ear. “You can’t give up. We are going to Brazil tomorrow, and it’s going to be amazing. Keep your head up, yeah?”

 

Mario looks at him, pained, but nods. _That’s what Marco would want_ sounds a bit morbid, but true anyways. Jerome smiles weakly and presses a kiss into his hair.

 

They win 6-0, and Mario somehow manages to score twice in the last ten minutes, but no one is celebrating too much. The dressing room is a lot of shuffling around and very little talking, and Mario wants lie down in the middle of the floor, spread-eagled, and stare at the ceiling. It’s all a bit hazy. He would probably stay here for the night or something, but Jerome is there again, grabs his elbow and guides him on the bus. Sits next to him, maybe a bit closer than normal, always touching him at least a little bit. Walks him to his hotel room. The long warm hug and the kiss on the cheek Jerome leaves him with rips him out of the daze for a while, but even then, Mario wants nothing more than to just sleep and forget.

 

When his alarm goes off on the next morning, Mario is feeling like absolute shit.

 

He hasn’t slept much, so he’s tired on top of the sadness he’s been feeling ever since…

 

He still doesn’t want to think about it.

 

He groans, silences his phone and sighs. He needs to get up, pack the last of his stuff and go. To Brazil. To the World Cup.

 

Without his best friend.

 

He should be excited - this is his first one, after all - but he’s anything but.

 

He shoves his breakfast down his throat without any emotion or appreciation - it literally tastes like nothing to him. It feels like the toast is cardboard, like his coffee is plain warm water. He’s scared to look at his phone.

 

He feels a bit better when he’s around people again, when he’s with this teammates who are going to Brazil with him. The mood has elevated significantly and most of his teammates are very much ready to go. But for every hug Mario gets as a greeting, there’s a pitying look; for every expression of excitement, there’s a careful “how’re you feeling?” and it just makes him a bit sad again. He kind of wants Marco there to complain, but… That’s the fucking problem.

  
  


“You okay?” a voice suddenly asks from behind him. It’s Jerome, tall as always, his expression curious but not too concerned, headphones around his neck, and he sounds different than the others. Not pitying. Besides, even though the previous night is a mess in his head, Mario knows it was Jerome who took care of him. That’s why he replies honestly.

 

“Yeah. Still a bit messed up about last night, but…” he doesn’t finish that, but Jerome nods anyway.

 

“Yeah, that’s understandable. Listen, we’re all a bit shaken, too, but you can talk to any of us, you know that, right?” Jerome offers with a tiny smile. “Most of us know the two of you well enough.”

Mario nods with one corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Yeah. I will if it gets worse.” He nearly adds “again”, but stops himself - no one needs to know about that. “Thanks,” he says instead, and Jerome smiles, pats him on the shoulder a few times.

 

He could talk to most of them. There’s an abundance of Bayern players here, guys who he’s known for a year, and Dortmunders, too, who he’s known even longer but doesn’t always feel completely comfortable with anymore. And there’s André, one of his closest friends despite being far away most of the time. He’s got plenty of support.

 

That makes him feel a bit better.

 

He gets a text from Marco when they’ve lined up to board the plane.

 

_Fly safe and good luck!_ it reads with a grinning emoji at the end, and Mario sighs quietly. Of course he’d do that, of course he’d know Mario was feeling like crap, even though Marco himself was way worse. Of course he’d try to cheer him up.

 

_We’ll win it for you, bro. Be better soon :)_ , he replies and turns his phone off.

 

He sits down in his aisle seat next to Mustafi, trying not to glare at him. The guy is just doing his job, he’s not, like, replacing Marco overall. It’s just, he’s sitting in Marco’s seat, and it’s a bit unnerving. André is looking at him from the third seat, and his look is encouraging in a way. So Mario doesn’t sigh heavily when he sits down. Instead, he shoots another look at Shkodran and André, then across the aisle. Jerome is sitting on the adjacent aisle seat, next to Basti and Poldi - Mario feels a bit sorry for him - and when he sees Mario watching, he smiles a tiny bit.

 

Mario manages to fall asleep as soon as they’ve reached altitude, music thumping away in his ears, blocking the excited chatter of his teammates. (Mostly Thomas. Obviously.) When he wakes up, quickly establishing that he’s been asleep for an hour and a half, there’s a blanket draped over him and someone’s hoodie is wrapped up neatly and placed behind his neck. Mario is eternally grateful for that, the makeshift pillow especially, because he gets neck pains sometimes from sleeping when sitting. He sits up a little bit, pauses the music, and then catches Jerome’s eye from across the aisle. He’s got an identical blanket over him. He slips off his headphones as well and smiles.

 

“Didn’t want you to hurt your neck,” he says, simple as that, and Mario smiles wider than he has in a while. “Thank you,” he says politely, and Jerome grins even wider.

 

“You want this back?” Mario asks, pointing at the hoodie, and Jerome quickly shakes his head. “No, I’m fine,” he says, lifting his blanket a little. “Keep it ‘til we get there.” Mario smiles again, even blushes a bit, and nods.

 

He doesn’t really pay attention to what his body wants, so he’s grateful that Jerome keeps an eye on him throughout the flight to Salvador. He guesses it’s because he’s the most shaken by what happened last night, and someone was probably told to look after him for a little while. Anyway, Jerome asks the waitress for two bottles of water and gives one to Mario; and an hour later, when he goes to “stretch his legs”, which he might actually need to do because he is tall as heck and therefore maybe a bit cramped, he drags Mario along. Almost literally - first he holds out a hand, and when Mario doesn’t take it, Jerome grabs one of his hands himself and pulls him up.

 

It’s actually good to get up after so much sitting, so once he’s standing, he goes along willingly. They walk to the end of the aisle, past their mostly sleeping or out-of-it teammates, and once they’re out of everyone’s field of vision, Jerome stretches himself with a yawn. His shirt rides up a bit and Mario pokes his bare stomach. Jerome’s stretch collapses in an instant and he lets out a laugh.

 

“You dick,” he says, but it sounds incredibly gentle. Mario laughs, too, quietly, so they wouldn’t wake anybody up.

 

Jerome shakes his head a little and turns around to go to the toilet. Suddenly, Mario is feeling that bottle of water as well and he waits by the door for Jerome to finish. He leans his head back, closes his eyes for a bit. Just like that, the bad feelings are coming back. Without music or sleep or company to take his mind off things, he’s feeling like crap again. He misses Marco. They were supposed to be on this plane together, spend several weeks together, like old times.

 

But fate is a bitch.

 

He hears when the toilet door opens and lifts his head, opens his eyes. Jerome’s smile is replaced with a tiny frown when he sees Mario’s face - probably not very good at hiding it, then. Mario doesn’t say anything, walks past him without quite meeting his eyes.

 

Cold water to his face doesn’t help much. He stares himself in the mirror, bites his lips.

 

He doesn’t want this.

 

Mario expects Jerome to be gone by the time he gets back, but he’s standing there when Mario opens the door, stares at him with a worried look in his eyes.

 

“You looked upset,” he says, putting a hand on Mario’s shoulder. Mario looks up and sighs quietly. There’s no point in lying - Jerome already offered help and he knows that keeping this crap in won’t help anybody.

 

“It got worse,” he simply says, and Jerome’s arms are gently wrapped around his shoulders in an instant. Mario puts his around Jerome’s waist, hugs him back tightly.

 

“Sorry for leaving you to go pee,” Jerome says, laughter clearly audible in his voice and Mario laughs a bit, too.

 

“Sorry for losing it after being alone for, like, ten seconds,” he replies. Jerome doesn’t laugh at that, only hugs him tighter. He turns them around and they waddle back to their seats, still hugging, Mario’s face hidden in Jerome’s chest, trusting him blindly.

 

Once he’s sitting, he turns to Jerome again. And not, like, just his face. He turns his whole body in his seat, so one of his ears is pressed against it, his legs dangling over the armrest. Jerome smiles, copying him.

 

“This is comfier than sitting normally,” he says and Mario laughs.

 

They spend at least an hour talking in hushed voices about anything and everything. Their shared memories, their hopes for the following five weeks, the best jokes they remember. At some point, a sleepy-looking Thomas walks by, pats both of their heads without even looking at them. Mario snorts.

 

He starts yawning again soon, and Jerome gets up to make sure he’s comfy again before he falls asleep.

 

“Are you my assigned babysitter for the day?” Mario asks when Jerome is quite literally tucking him in, unable to keep some thoughts to himself. Jerome halts, stares at him for a while.

 

“No. I am a caring friend, dumbass,” he says, and Mario isn’t sure whether he’s joking or a bit insulted by that. He has no time to think about it, because all of a sudden, sleep is everywhere.

 

This time, he sleeps longer, and when he opens his eyes again, most of his teammates seem to be awake. Shkodran and André are talking in hushed voices next to him, Thomas is playing cards with Mats, Fips and Manu. There are other conversations happening here and there, mostly at normal level. Apart from the one across the aisle, where Poldi and Basti are laughing their heads off at whatever, talking over each other loudly.

 

Mario feels a bit sorry for Jerome again.

 

However, Jerome’s headphones are tucked on and he seems to be mostly oblivious to his neighbours. His mouth is open a little bit, his eyes closed, his breathing slow. His blanket, though, is slipping off him - he must have tossed and turned a bit, still subconsciously annoyed by Schweinski blabbering next to him. Mario gets up and fixes it, pulls it up carefully. Jerome doesn’t stir.

 

André is smiling at him when he sits back down to watch a movie.

 

He’s immersed in the action on the screen when he feels a light touch to his shoulder. Jerome is awake, heading to the toilet again, and he’s looking back at Mario with a happy grin.

  
Mario smiles back.


	2. bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it all starts happening in this one.  
> (can you believe World Cup started a year ago today?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and an even bigger thank you to those who stuck around for the second! following the timeline is a pain in the butt when you've got the next chapter ready to go, but i will pace myself. feels more special this way. next chapter will be up around the 17th/18th of June. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this! <3

The plane ride is ridiculously long and Mario obviously knows where they’re going, but he doesn’t quite register the fact he’s in Brazil until he’s standing on a ferry, driving along a canal, and everything around him looks new and different and breathtaking. The wild nature is something he doesn’t get to see too often in Munich, the sunshine so warm and bright it almost feels like he’s on one of his summer holidays on some island in Europe. All of this needs some organising in his head.

 

This seems to be the dominating feeling among all of them. Most of the guys are looking around with at least some level of awe. Thomas, of course, is ten times more excited than everyone else, as per usual, bouncing along the deck; Basti and Lukas are taking an alarming amount of selfies, with a few nature shots in between; Per is chatting with Benni; and Jerome...

 

Jerome hovers.

 

Not in a negative way, definitely. But he’s never far away, sometimes talking to whoever happens to be next to Mario, sometimes looking out at the water next to him, their elbows almost touching, and when Mario’s been alone for five minutes and is thinking again - nothing sad or anything, he’s just… away from everyone else -, Jerome almost hugs him from behind, puts his hands next to Mario’s on the railing.

 

“Brazil, Mario,” he says quietly into his ear, his voice all low and husky, as if to drag Mario back to the present. Mario turns and almost smashes his head into Jerome’s nose. The taller man smiles at him.

 

“Yeah,” Mario replies, smiling too, now. Jerome makes him feel safe and warm. A different kind of warm than the one coming from the sun. He needs this, he needs to have someone hover and look out for him while he bounces back and focuses on the World Cup again, and Jerome is doing a great job. Mario feels good around him.

 

“We’re gonna kill it,” Jerome continues, still very close to Mario’s ear, and Mario doesn’t mind. He’s not as sure about what will happen and how they’ll do, but Jerome’s enthusiasm is encouraging.

 

“We will,” he replies, turning back towards the water. Jerome pats his hair, smooths it out again and walks off (only to return five minutes later under the pretense of offering him water).

 

*

They settle into their houses, and Mario is almost a bit sad that Jerome’s not in his house. He can’t complain though - sharing a house with Miro is still pretty surreal, he knows Roman well, and Toni and André are his close friends. And once he accepts the fact that Shkodran is there and Marco isn’t, Musti isn’t a bad housemate either. He’s a lot of fun and often not a lot of clothes, and he gives Mario a hug on their first evening there.

 

“Sorry I stole Marco’s place,” he says jokingly, and Mario actually smiles at that now.

 

“Not your fault,” he replies and ruffles Musti’s hair. He’s used to doing that to Marco, but Musti apparently likes it more than Mr Perfect Hair does.

 

André stays in his room until midnight that night, catching up with him properly now. They take too many dumb selfies and send one to Marco, who replies with an _It’s 5 in the morning, assholes_. They come up with increasingly insane predictions about the World Cup - Pepe punching at least two people in the face in the match against Portugal, Robben scoring a hattrick against them, winning the final 5-0 and going home with the Cup.

 

Now, Mario’s getting excited as well.

 

*

He’s on the same team with Jerome in an afternoon training, and scores a beautiful goal with Jerome’s help during a scrimmage game. They run at each other and Mario’s going in for a hug, but before he knows it, Jerome has picked him up and heaved him over his shoulder, which is equal parts fun and terrifying. Mario bounces up and down a little as Jerome runs around triumphantly before they’re stopped by their teammates. He puts Mario down, laughs and ruffles his hair.

 

“Good job,” he says with nearly childlike glee, and Mario honestly can’t help but grin at him.

 

When they finish training - with their team getting a clear victory over the others - Mario lays down on the ground, squints towards the reddening sky. It’s nearing sunset and he kind of feels like sleeping already.

 

His vision is suddenly full of Jerome’s face. He’s leaning over Mario with a smug expression.

 

“Want me to carry you back?” he asks, holding back laughter. Mario wants to give him a snappy comeback, but after thinking about it for a second, he gets up on his elbows.

 

“If you’re offering,” he replies with a smirk, and Jerome’s grin goes wider.

 

“Hop on,” he says, straightening up and turning his back to Mario. Mario gets up, brushes stray leaves of grass off his clothes and then jumps onto Jerome’s back. Jerome grabs his legs and Mario wraps his arms around his neck.

 

“You’re a lazy butt,” Jerome tells him.

 

“I’m tired!” Mario squawks indignantly. “And you’re in a compromising position, watch your language,” he adds then before biting Jerome’s neck. Jerome hisses.

 

“I can throw you off into the pool, you know,” he replies, laughing.

 

“You think I’d let go? I go in, you go in too,” Mario says back instantly. Jerome laughs again. They’ve reached the door of Mario’s house, so he lets Mario off his back.

 

“We can test that tomorrow. Now go hit the shower, you smell,” he says before turning away.

 

“It’s the smell of victory!” Mario calls after him.

 

(He does push Jerome into the pool the next day and then jumps in right after. Jerome flicks his ear and lifts him out of the water and onto his shoulders, which should be punishment, but ends up initiating a game of chicken fight with Basti and Poldi. It’s a win all around.)

 

*

 

Brazil makes Jerome glow.

 

Mario notices it the second afternoon training in Campo Bahia, when the sun is shining brightly and they’re all squinting while working out. It’s not like Mario stares at his teammates while training, but, you know, he has eyes and he sees things with them.

 

Things like Jerome’s muscles flexing as he moves, his dark skin glistening with sweat. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, his expression focused and self-assured. On top of everything, he’s not wearing a lot of clothes. Mario kind of wants to touch him to make sure he’s not made of melted chocolate.

 

Wait, what?

 

He stops what he’s doing when he realises what he’s thinking. He needs to force himself to get back to work before anyone notices, but even though his body carries on exercising, his mind is suddenly very alert because of wildly different things.

 

This is new to him, thinking about his teammates like that. He has accepted a long time ago that he’s into boys as well as girls and he’s fine with it, but he has never shown any interest in a teammate. Of course, him and Marco are a different thing, always as close to each other as possible, and Mario wants that to happen, but it’s never... this.

 

What the hell?

 

And it’s Jerome, too, Jerome who he’s known for a long time, who he’s played with for a year now. Why is this sudden emotion in his guts there _now_ , after all this time? Can he blame it on the hemisphere or has something actually shifted in his brain?

 

Of course, Jerome catches Mario’s eye in the middle of these thoughts, looks at him for a second before smiling, and fuck.

 

Something’s happening.

 

Something’s definitely happening.

 

He does his best to postpone the freak-out, and then he calls Marco during afternoon relaxing time.

 

“I think I have a tiny crush on Jerome?” He poses it as a question after they’ve talked about Marco’s health, and Marco’s first reaction is laughter. When Mario doesn’t say anything, he goes quiet.

 

“Wait, seriously? How did you reach that conclusion?”

 

Mario makes sure his door is closed.

 

“I don’t know, the near-hard-on he gave me in training gave a pretty good clue,” he says a bit grumpily. Marco doesn’t laugh this time, but he does snort.

 

“What, did he rub up on you or something?” he asks, a little incredulous.

 

“No, he just… He looked hot?” Mario says, and he knows Marco will laugh again. He does, of course. But then he goes into supportive friend mode.

 

“Was it just this once or is it a recurring thing? I mean, for all you know, it might have been sunstroke or something. One near-hard-on or whatever proves nothing. Don’t go nuts over this.”

 

Mario sighs.

 

“It was just today, but I mean… I can totally see it happening again. I think.”

 

Marco pauses for a second.

 

“Well, cross that bridge when you get to it, yeah? Or burn it or whatever. Just calm down for now, okay? You’ve got a World Cup to focus on.”

 

“...Thanks.” Mario feels significantly better. “This is why I keep you around.”

 

“Love advice and free - no, _stolen_ \- hair products,” Marco replies drily, and they both laugh.

 

*

The school of Santo André is amazing.

 

There’s happy kids everywhere, so willing to hug them and all, and their enthusiasm and happiness is infectious. Mario is pulled into a crowd of kids, some barely shorter than him, everyone chatting, laughing, trying to get close to him. And he does his best to get close to each and every one of them, too, taking pictures, picking them up, hugging them, the whole deal. It’s amazing and inspiring.

 

At some point, the madness calms down a little and Mario gets a chance to lean against a wall and look around properly. His teammates are scattered around the yard, some resting, some still playing around with the kids. Mario looks at Lukas and admires how easily he connects with all these kids - it must be because he is both a dad and an adult child. There are other fathers in the team, of course, but none of them are quite as outstanding as Poldi.

 

Well, okay, Jerome kind of is.

 

Mario sometimes almost forgets that Jerome has two three-year old daughters. But moments like this remind him of that, because Jerome has got a huge smile on his face as he’s picking up a small girl with wild curly hair, not unlike Soley and Lamia, and he twirls her around until she’s almost shrieking with laughter. Jerome laughs, too, and hugs her before putting her down again. He looks completely at home with the children, and although Mario did fairly well with these kids, he feels inferior next to Jerome. Inferior, but a tiny bit proud for some reason.

 

Jerome catches his eye again - how does he even find him so easily? - and Mario gives him a smile and a thumbs up. Jerome laughs again, shakes his head a little, and Mario thinks he looks kind of endearing.

 

Jerome ends up next to him when the children are performing, leaning his elbow on Mario’s shoulder. Mario looks up at him, frowning - he knows he’s short, stop teasing him for it - and Jerome laughs, looks at him fondly and wraps an arm around Mario’s waist, almost pulling Mario into him.

 

Mario is unsure whether this is way better or way worse.

 

*

And then it’s happening. The World Cup starts, and Brazil win the first game despite Marcelo’s own goal. Jerome and Mario share one of the sofas, sides pressed together. There’s plenty of space, but Jerome likes to get close and Mario is far from minding. Around the hour mark of the game, he turns to lean his back against the armrest and plops his feet on Jerome’s lap. Jerome looks at him, a little bit surprised, but then smiles and lets his fingers rest on Mario’s ankles.

 

Mario tries very hard not to notice when said fingers start drawing patterns on his legs.

 

It tickles a little bit, and it’s distracting, but most of all, it feels nice and domestic. Jerome shouldn’t feel domestic, he should feel friendly, and so Mario pointedly stares at the screen even when he feels Jerome’s eyes on him. But he keeps his feet firmly in place under Jerome’s fingers.

 

He wonders if he has to start crossing or burning bridges soon.

 

 


	3. you can light up the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game against Portugal and long walks on the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you made it here! <3

The World Cup is go. Now that matches are actually happening, none of the Germans can wait until the sixteenth to get on with it and the matches they get to watch increase that excitement even more. It gets interesting when Netherlands beat the ruling world champions 5-1 - this tournament might turn out pretty weird. Mario loves every moment of the preparation, gives his all in trainings and cheers along to others’ games, but he, too, wants to just play in a stadium, now.

 

And then the 16th of June is there, somehow still surprisingly sudden. Mario feels jittery all day, equal parts excited and anxious to play. Marco sends him a good luck message that doesn’t even sound bitter, and Mario replies with a _wish you were here_. On their way to the stadium, Jerome sits next to him with his headphones on and casts an amused look towards him every time his knee starts twitching too hard. It’s almost a game.

 

Mario always goes into his zone before matches. After greeting his opponents, he usually takes his place in the line and doesn’t pay much attention to what is happening around him, just focusing on what’s to come. And their first match - his World Cup debut - is against Portugal, which might be a tricky one, so it’s especially important now. Jerome, standing right behind him in the players’ corridor of Fonte Nova, does the same, but when they start moving out, he pats him on the shoulder as an encouragement.

 

Mario is sort of tucked under his arm while they’re playing the anthem, and it grounds Mario a little bit, helps him handle the nervous energy in him. Before they separate, Jerome squeezes his shoulder and gives him a small encouraging smile.

 

Yeah, Mario can do this.

 

They can all do this, apparently, well enough to smash Portugal 4-0. Pepe almost actually punches Thomas in the face, which makes Mario laugh just a little bit, and it’s easier to play against ten anyway. Thomas is on fire, starts his tournament off with a hat trick, and Gerd Müller, Ronaldo and Miro better watch out.

 

Everyone is euphoric for hours after the match, because if this is how they start things off, imagine how they’ll end it. They try not to get too excited or conceited - after all, it was only their first match and by no means a reflection of the entire tournament - but it was a good game and none of the men can't really _not_ be a bit giddy.

 

The way back is largely through the Brazilian night. They crowd back on the bus, chatting a lot more freely than in their pre-match concentration. Jerome settles next to him again, and he’s more open, too.

 

“You wanna share?” he asks and pulls earbuds out his bag. Mario nods eagerly - they have a similar taste in music anyway -, leans closer and takes a bud from Jerome. The latter putters on his phone for a few moments, then calm, yet still rhythmic music starts. Mario nods along for a while, but when the drive slows his body down a bit, leans back and closes his eyes. Jerome’s right next to him, radiating literal and figurative warmth, and it’s not a miracle that Mario ends up sleeping on his shoulder, really. He doesn’t quite plan that, but when he realises that it might happen, he does nothing to stop it. And, for some reason, neither does Jerome - his neighbour is apparently fine with Mario selfishly using him for comfort. When he wakes up, he’s ashamed for drooling on Jerome’s shoulder, but the wide grin he gets as a response eases his worries.

 

They’re finally on the ferry, going back to the camp in the dark, and Jerome is next to him pretty much constantly, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Mario can feel him singing along to Christoph’s slightly awful version of “When You Say Nothing At All” as much he can hear him, as Jerome thinks the best place for him to be is pressed against Mario’s back. When the song ends, Jerome hugs him from behind, and neither of them says nothing at all, funnily enough. Mario puts his hands on Jerome’s arms, melts into him.

 

It’s easier in the darkness.

 

*

 

When a few others get the afternoon off to go golfing, Jerome invites Mario to go hiking. It’s less of a hike and more of a walk through the wild nature surrounding their home in Brazil, but Mario will definitely take it. So, they take plenty of water, snacks that Jerome refuses to show Mario before they eat them, a blanket and towels, planning to end up by the ocean and go for a swim in non-chlorinated water for once.

 

The weather is a bit odd that day, at times threatening with rain, at others showing sunshine so bright even standing still would make you sweat. They leave the camp soon after the golfers, taking a dirt road in a random direction. They always have something to talk about, and today is not an exception.

 

“So, how’s Marco?” Jerome asks with slight carefulness in his tone, unsure of how sensitive the topic is.

 

“Better,” Mario replies thoughtfully, thinking back to their last phone call a few days back. “He’s upset he can’t be here, but he took a sweet island holiday with his friends, so he’s not terrible.”

 

“You guys are really close. He’s your best friend, you must miss him like hell,” Jerome says thoughtfully after a few seconds, and Mario can feel his eyes on him.

 

“Yeah,” Mario replies honestly. “We’d been talking about this for months, you know? It was gonna be a reunion and we were gonna spend five weeks together, like in my Dortmund days.” He throws a quick look towards Jerome and adds with a smile, “but I am absolutely not complaining at my current company.”

 

Jerome laughs at that. “I’m glad. I’d hate to have to talk somebody else into going on walks with me.”

 

“Yeah, and I get to save others from that fate. I feel like a hero.” Mario’s voice takes on a teasing tone now.

 

Jerome rolls his eyes. “You’re honestly already complaining? I’m not carrying you this time.”

 

Mario laughs, now, too. “We’ll see about that. I only got started, this is mild whining right now.”

 

Jerome punches him in the arm. “Don’t you dare, dumbass. This is fun.”

 

Mario actually agrees and doesn’t whine at all. They walk about an hour more and then turn towards the ocean. The salty water is warm and welcoming and they splash around in it like children, not bothering to go for an actual proper swim. Their splashing contest turns into a wrestling contest and this level of physical proximity does things to Mario’s brain - Jerome is indeed not made of melted chocolate, but feels smooth and firm under his hands. He pulls back, laughing, earlier than he’d like to, but another half-boner is uncomfortably close and hiding that from Jerome would be just exhausting.

 

“Giving up?” Jerome asks playfully, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Yes, giving up. You are allowed to drown me into the Atlantic,” Mario replies, taking a few steps towards the shore.

 

Jerome seems to actually consider that for a second. “Nah. Might still need you,” he says offhandedly and walks past Mario, ruffling his wet hair. Mario punishes him by jumping on his back, and Jerome’s quick reflexes help them stay upright.

 

“You lazy butt,” Jerome says, but carries Mario to the shore anyway. Mario bites his neck again and winces at the salty taste of the ocean water.

 

He wonders if it’s weird and wrong and creepy to prefer the taste of Jerome’s skin.

 

After drying themselves off and eating the snacks - a neatly cut up apple, oatmeal cookies and marshmallows, God knows how Jerome got hold of the latter, since they follow a pretty strict diet here - they walk back towards their houses along the beach. Mario loves the feel of sand between his toes, pushes them in it with glee. Jerome finds it funny and winces when he tries that himself.

 

The sun sets early in Brazil, and by the time they need to go inland again, it’s disappearing behind the trees.

 

“Long walks on the beach at sunset,” Jerome comments drily. Mario turns to look at him, and Jerome’s eyes are on him, too.

 

“Thank you for this super romantic hike,” Mario replies with fake earnestness, and dodges away from another hair ruffle. When Mario looks at him again, he’s smiling at the ground.

 

Mario does the same on their way back, and when he goes to bed that night, he thinks that if they don’t win the Cup, that afternoon might be the highlight of his time here.


	4. mean something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game against Ghana and hammocks and ~feelings~. Fic title is very literal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 I'm having so much fun doing this and yelling at my fictional children to GET ON WITH IT, but they'll be dancing around each other for a little while longer. Meanwhile, here's a ton of fluff.

Ghana is a mixed bag of emotions. On the one hand, Mario scores his first World Cup goal and feels tingly for a long time afterwards, and Miro is now equal with Ronaldo. On the other hand, a 2-2 draw is not what any of them were after. Mostly, they’re just tired after the match, physically and emotionally. Jerome pretty much collapses next to Mario on the bus, even though he only played half a match. His eyes close as soon as he sits, so Mario doesn’t say anything, leans his head against the glass, looks into nothingness.

 

“It was a nice goal,” Jerome finally says, and Mario lifts his head to look at him. Jerome looks sleepy and tired, but there’s a small smile on his lips that exudes affection and pride. Mario blushes seeing that expression, leans a little bit closer.

 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. He’d gotten all the pats and hair ruffles and compliments earlier, Jerome had already congratulated him once, too, but this is more intimate, less affected by the rush of adrenaline they all have during matches. Jerome looks more open than usual, softer.

 

“What does a World Cup goal feel like?” Jerome asks, a smile still on his face, and Mario grins now, too.

 

“Amazing,” he says. “Surreal and a bit terrifying, but amazing.”

 

Jerome’s smile gets even softer at that.

 

“Imagine scoring the winner in the final,” he says, and Mario’s eyes go wide.

 

“Oh, I have,” he says, and they both chuckle.

 

“You have a real shot at it, now, though,” Jerome says, and that is _technically_ true, but a ridiculous concept anyway. Besides, they have to get to the final first. Mario doesn’t let himself have dreams this crazy.

 

“Staying awake during the trip back to the camp tonight is way more likely, and that’s definitely not happening,” he replies after a yawn, rubbing his eyes, and Jerome grins again. He lifts his arm, and Mario looks at him for a few seconds, eyebrows raised.

 

“Come on, cuddle up,” Jerome says then, encouraging. “It’s more comfy this way than just sleeping against my arm, trust me.” Mario looks at him for another few seconds, but gives in anyway. He shuffles closer again, and looking up at Jerome, puts his head on his shoulder. Jerome’s arm curls around his shoulders, a warm, comforting weight.

 

“You smell really good,” Mario says to him, eyes closed, bordering on falling asleep, and Jerome chuckles. Moments later, his head settles on top of Mario’s, and that’s nice, too.

 

The last thing Mario feels before sleep overtakes him is Jerome’s thumb gently rubbing his shoulder.

 

*

 

Mario finds himself hanging out with Jerome more and more often. Obviously, they’ve known each other for a long time, have been close friends for nearly a year. And with Schweinski sticking together, Mülli being prone to talking his ears off and Fips being off on captain duty more often than not, Mario has few Bayern players to choose from. Out of the ones that are left - out of all of them, really -, Jerome is his favourite, so, they spend hours together. Talking, not talking, listening to music, listening to silence. It’s nice with him, the silences are never awkward, the conversations never boring. Jerome knows how to make him smile. And laugh. And blush.

 

It really should worry Mario a bit more that he’s quite definitely got a crush on Jerome, but it doesn’t.

 

Mostly because at least sometimes, it seems mutual.

 

Jerome likes to touch, so by now, Mario is very familiar of how he feels pressed against him, how he smells. It’s not even intimate most of the time - just sitting a little too close together at the breakfast table or knocking their knees together when watching other matches or Jerome guiding Mario with a hand on the small of his back. But then, sometimes, Jerome runs his fingers down Mario’s arm, or puts an arm around his hips, or kisses his hair when he scores a goal in training. There’s a look in his eyes when he touches Mario like that, and Mario can’t decipher it yet.

 

He wants it to mean something.

 

*

 

Of course, they have trainings and games and sometimes press, but Brazil gives them plenty of time to relax. Campo Bahia is great in that way - it has a thousand little possibilities of spending time, so none of them seem to be bored yet. Everyone always has something to do, even if it's just lying around in the sun.

 

Three days before their last group match, Mario has picked out his favourite hammock to relax in after their afternoon practice - it's the one that's out of direct sunshine right now, so it's not ridiculously warm. He left his headphones inside after André told him to just listen to the relative quiet of the place, occasionally interrupted by a shout from one of his teammates or a bird. Mario's been doing that for a pretty long time now and the lovely drowsiness is setting in when he hears footsteps approaching. He lifts his head to see who it is and smiles when he sees Jerome coming back from a swim, apparently. His hair is still wet, but his body, only covered by shorts, is already dry. The sunshine here is a bit ridiculous. When Jerome sees him, he stops and smiles.

 

“You are the laziest athlete I’ve ever met,” he says, holding back laughter, and Mario would punch him in the arm for that, but he’s soooooo comfortable right now and doesn’t want to move, which kind of proves Jerome’s point. Damn it.

 

“Shut up,” he says instead. “Was the water warm?”

 

Jerome runs a hand through his hair and shakes it then, spraying Mario with tiny droplets of water. “Super warm,” he says, chuckling when Mario frowns at him. He sits down next to Mario, and the cloth under them shifts so that their sides are tightly pressed together, Mario’s left against Jerome’s right. Mario could put his head on Jerome’s shoulder, but he won’t. Jerome would probably laugh.

 

“Why didn’t you invite me?” he asks instead, trying not to sound disappointed. Jerome chuckles soundlessly, but Mario can feel it anyway.

 

“Because you’re so incredibly lazy and probably wouldn’t have come anyway,” he replies and grabs Mario’s arm when the latter wants to punch him again. He sets it back to its place and pats it a few times, then pulls away. “Plus, I thought you’d get tired of me if I dragged you everywhere all the time.”

 

Mario frowns, unsure if Jerome actually meant that. He doesn’t think getting tired of Jerome, of _this_ , is even possible. He can’t imagine that.

 

“Dumbass,” he says affectionately. “Why is that even a thing you worry about?”

 

“I don’t _want_ you to get tired of me,” Jerome replies without missing a beat, apparently meaning it, and Mario turns to him, frowning deeper.

 

“I won’t, you moron,” he says, now patting Jerome’s arm with his right hand. It feels nice, so he lets his fingers rest in the crook of Jerome’s elbow. Jerome isn’t fazed by it, only smiles his gentle smile. It’s quiet for a while, both of them thinking their thoughts.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mario finally says, turning his head, and Jerome looks down at him sleepily, a grin on his face. He hears that from Mario pretty much daily. He usually replies with “I know” or “Shut up”. This time, though, he leans his head on top of Mario’s.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” he says and puts his left arm across his stomach. His fingers now very gently brush against Mario’s, still in the crook of Jerome’s other elbow, and Mario’s insides are a tiny bit on fire. This is… new. And a lot. He lifts the fingers a little bit, so the touch is firmer, only a fraction away from intertwining, and Jerome presses a lingering kiss into his hair.

 

Jerome falls asleep soon, but for Mario, it takes a way longer while. He still doesn’t know what Jerome feels, but now it really looks like it’s not nothing. But when he tries to imagine that, Jerome actually having _feelings_ for him, it sounds ridiculous. Of course not. He’s got daughters, so he was into women four years ago, right? And still is. He just likes to touch. But their fingers are still right next to one another. Mario could grab Jerome’s and hold them if he dared. But he doesn’t.

 

When he wakes up, finally having managed to sleep after thinking too much, Jerome is still there, looking at the trees, and the sun is setting, shining on them now. Mario is not sure which warms him more.

 

“Dinner?” he asks, and Jerome only jumps a little bit. Then, he smiles and gets up carefully, holds out a hand for Mario.

 

“Dinner,” he repeats, and Mario smiles, taking his hand. He gets up and lets Jerome go, but their shoulders brush together the whole way back.

 

 


	5. possibly probably hopefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insecurities, cuddles, and honestly when will they realise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like 60% UST and 30% fluff and 10% football. Oh well.  
> I hope you enjoy this; any kind of feedback is strongly encouraged! <3

Morning in Brazil means afternoon in Austria, so after having breakfast on the 24th of June, Mario and Jerome decide it’s about time to congratulate their friend on his birthday. David is 22 now, and sadly on the other side of an ocean, but Skype is a blessing. They lie side by side on their stomachs on Jerome’s bed and make the call.

 

David appears on the screen of Jerome’s laptop, looking happy as ever and maybe even younger than before. “Hey!” he greets them loudly, and creates a happy atmosphere with a single word. “Oh, it’s the both of you! That’s awesome. How are you?”

 

Mario rolls his eyes. “We’re great. Now stop talking.” He looks at Jerome and after a silent count to three, they start a pretty terrible “Haaappy biiiirthdaaay toooo yooooouuu…” David snorts and lets out an “oh no” before laughing. Mario and Jerome try to not burst out laughing too, even though they understand that they sound possibly worse than Christoph. They manage to actually finish it, and David laughs for at least ten seconds once they’re finished.

 

“I want that on iTunes,” he finally says. “What a highlight. Thanks, you morons.”

 

Jerome and Mario make a nearly identical annoyed noise, which makes David laugh again.

 

“Oh lord, stop being all twins-y. Because I will not deal with that, honestly. Shouldn’t have let you go there without me. Now you’re gonna shack up together and I’ll be left out.”

 

Mario blushes at the choice of words, while Jerome laughs it off.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll always have time to annoy you,” he says with ease, not denying the shacking up at all, and why would he just let a joke like that slide?

 

“Shut up, you asshole. Stop annoying me right now and go win this thing, because if you don’t, I’ll lose a lot of money,” David replies instantly, and Jerome huffs.

 

“You’re full of shit,” Mario says to him, finally letting go of Jerome’s reaction, and David laughs.

“Fine, fine. Thanks for calling though, even with your busy schedule and all,” he says with a grin.

 

“For you, anytime,” Jerome replies and makes a kissy face at the screen. “Now don’t be bitter and go celebrate your mortality.”

 

Mario feels at ease now. “We miss you!” he tacks on at the end of Jerome’s sentence. David laughs. “I miss you too, lovebirds. I will disown you if you don’t win, though. Bye!”

 

Before Mario can protest the disowning or the “lovebirds”, the call ends.

 

“I can’t believe he’s six years old already,” Jerome says, completely deadpan, and Mario hides his face in his folded arms to laugh.

 

“He’s an idiot,” he replies, muffled.

 

“Takes one to know one,” Jerome replies and Mario moves one arm to jab him in the ribs with a finger.

 

Soon, it’s another wrestling match, and Mario doesn’t even care that his stomach feels funny when Jerome locks him down under him. They can be lovebirds for a little while.

 

*

 

Despite getting positively soaked, they win against the USA and sail through to the round of 16. The next day in Campo Bahia is a very relaxed one, partially because they can take a tiny break, and partially because it’s so freaking hot. Mario goes outside in his swimming shorts, has a swim in the pool first thing and then puts a shirt on so his skin wouldn’t set on fire immediately. Sunburns are not ideal for people aiming to win the World Cup and he’s not sure the Brazilian sun knows what SPF even means. Toni wanders outside when Mario is trying to form his wet hair so it wouldn’t dry into something hideous, and asks him if he’s up for table tennis. Mario shrugs and agrees, because that doesn’t sound too exhausting.

 

It gets competitive pretty quickly, though, and the weather is increasingly unkind. Mario is kind of in the zone by the time Jerome ends up by the pool. He dodges away from his tickle, slaps him on the butt with the paddle, and Jerome laughs, half-jogging away from him. It’s suddenly a bit harder to concentrate, especially after Jerome gets out of the water, dripping and honestly gorgeous, and starts drying himself off.

 

“You’re staring,” Toni says, holding back laughter, and Mario was about to put the ball in play, but he throws it at Toni’s head instead. Toni laughs and catches it when it bounces off his forehead. “I mean, he does look great, but focus,” he says, throwing the ball back to Mario, and Mario narrows his eyes. He throws a quick glance towards Jerome, who’s settling into a chair, content to just lie in the sun for a while, and then concentrates on the game again.

 

Except not quite, because he looks at Jerome every now and then, and apparently, Jerome’s watching him. Not even the game, _him_. There’s a content smile on his face, and Mario feels a bit exposed. He decides the best way to fight that is to actually expose himself, so when there’s a break in the game, he takes his shirt off slowly. He doesn’t mean to make eye contact, but when he emerges from behind the white fabric, him and Jerome are looking right at each other. Jerome’s smile seems the same from the other side of the pool, but he shifts a little bit, so Mario must have had a bit of an effect. Jerome plays it off, though, pretends to make it rain, and Mario laughs, flipping him off.

 

He plays shirtless for a while, and then Toni goes for a swim, so Mario takes the chair next to Jerome, his shirt back on now.

“Enjoy the show?” he asks, grinning. Jerome looks at him, and from up close, he looks slightly different.

 

“Immensely,” he says, however, laughing like he normally does, and slides his chair closer to Mario’s. They turn to look at each other, and holy unresolved sexual tension Batman, Mario suddenly realises. That’s why Jerome looks different, a bit more tense.

 

He wants Mario, possibly. Probably. Hopefully.

 

This is a lot to take in. A few days ago, Mario pushed these thoughts aside, but now they seem a lot more probable. There aren’t many things this could be played off as. Mario is not sure if he should poke at it. He’s not sure of his feelings, and Jerome probably isn’t sure of his, either. This is not the time to start talking about emotions - they’re in the middle of a World Cup. But at the same time, Mario wants him, and if that’s mutual, they should make it happen sooner rather than later, right? But it could get messy, and Mario doesn’t want to lose the World Cup because of relationship drama. But the thought of Jerome _with him_ feels… very nice. But...

  
“I can hear the gears turning. Your brain is going to overheat,” Jerome breaks the silence, still a bit reserved, but grinning. Mario’s lips stretch into a smile.

 

“It’s going to overheat one way or another,” he replies with surprising ease. “I think I need to move into the pool and live in there for a while.” He manages to keep his nervousness out of his tone, and Jerome laughs. Just like that, the moment is gone, and they’re back to best friends.

 

Mario can’t help but be the tiniest bit disappointed.

 

*

 

He’s taken off at half-time against Algeria, and though he knows that decision will improve the team, he’s a little bit self-conscious. The encouraging touch he got from Jerome before the game is a vague memory now - there’s an insecurity in his mind he can’t quite seem to shake. He watches the match from the bench, groans even louder than before when the 90 minutes give them no resolution. Finally, though, André scores right at the start of extra time, and then Mesut, too, and thank God, they’re in the quarterfinals. It’s been a pretty weird game, pretty tough, and without Manu, they’d probably be going home.

 

Mario is all sorts of exhausted, and despite that, he can’t fall asleep back at the camp. Some of it is the adrenaline, the close victory still thumping against his skull; some of it is insecurity crawling ever closer. He checks his phone every now and then, squints against the blinding light. 12:37. 1:03. 1:24. At 1:51, he gives up and slides out of bed. Sleeping isn’t going to work.

 

Campo Bahia is different at night. There are some lanterns near the houses, but mostly, the surroundings are dark. Black silhouettes of trees against the deep blue of the night sky seem vaguely ominous, the pool looks like it’s filled with ink. The grass is covered in dew when Mario pushes his toes into it and sighs.

 

He knows where he needs to go, but he can’t pluck up the courage.

 

At 2:15, he sighs for the umpteenth time and gets up from the bench he’s been sitting at. He’s got goosebumps on his skin, the night warm, but not warm enough for T-shirts and being still. He looks toward his house once, thinks for a few seconds and then turns away from it.

 

He’s been here before, knows how to reach his destination, but in the dark, he’s still overly careful not to make a sound. The door is not completely closed, probably to let the air in. Mario slips inside, stands at the door for a second, heart in his throat. Is he overstepping a boundary here?

 

He needs to get some sleep, though.

 

He walks to the bed and touches its occupant’s shoulder very lightly. Almost immediately, Jerome’s eyes open and he looks scared for a second before recognising his visitor.

 

“Mario,” he says, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Mario replies, knowing full well how much like a child he sounds right now. “Can I stay here?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jerome says without thinking, slides over to give him space, lifts up the cover. With the most grateful of smiles, Mario slides in next to him. He’s only a little bit surprised when Jerome fits himself against his back, wraps an arm around him.

 

“This better?” he whispers, and Mario is feeling sleepy already.

 

“A lot better,” he replies. “Thank you.”

 

Jerome kisses the nape of his neck in response.

 

He falls back to sleep very quickly, and Mario is drifting off, too. Before he succumbs, he lets his fingers slide across Jerome’s arm and end up covering Jerome’s hand.

  
His heart wants to burst at the simple touch.


	6. stay with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're getting there. we're getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've managed a chapter a week so far, but since it's the eighth already and we're still following the timeline, the final three chapters are probably gonna be up on the 12th, 13th and 14th. Fingers crossed! 
> 
> Thank you so much if you're still reading! leave me a comment, if you'd like - they always make me happy. (:

Now, the World Cup really gets tough. At the most, they have three games left, and none of them will be easy. Even though the general emotion in Campo Bahia doesn’t change, the tension is slowly increasing the closer they get to the first of the possible three. France has been great so far and defeating them will not be easy, but the (slight over-) confidence of the whole team encourages them to give their best.

 

It leaves less time for anything not football related, so Mario almost willingly puts the Jerome issue on the backburner for a short while. Even his thoughts before bed are more World Cup and less his painful crush. Whenever he does catch himself thinking about the situation, he suppresses it almost violently. He feels like a coward for it, but the alternative - the admitting of feelings, the possible rejection or non-rejection (Mario is not sure which one is scarier) - is way more terrifying than pushing all of it down.

 

The good thing is that this active suppression does absolutely nothing to change their relationship. Mario briefly considers pulling back and staying away from Jerome for a little while, but it would 1) be suspicious and 2) hurt him (probably both of them) a lot. So, if anything, they become even closer, talk a lot and laugh a lot and touch a lot. Mario can be terrified of confrontations, but he can’t starve himself of Jerome, either.

 

Honestly, it’s a miracle that nobody notices earlier. André plops down on his bed the day before their match against France, and Mario knows from a single glance at him that he’s not here for jokes only.

 

“You up for a chat?” he asks, and Mario isn’t gonna say no to him even of he kind of wants to a little bit.

 

“Sure. What’s up?” he asks back in the least concerned tone he can muster.

 

“I don’t know, I was hoping you’d tell me,” André replies and Mario now knows with absolute certainty where this conversation is headed. He still looks at André with a questioning gaze, though, and his friend adds, “I mean, every time I want to hang out with you, you’re off with Jerome somewhere. I’m almost jealous.” He adds a pouty face at the end of it, to show it’s more curiosity than interrogation, and Mario is grateful for that. He does need to answer André, though, and he’s not quite sure how to do that.

 

He decides to start with “Um…” and then stays quiet for a while. Finally, he carries on.

 

“You remember when I told you, like, ages ago, that I wasn’t, um… Just into girls?”

 

André stares at him for what feels like a very very long time, one eyebrow raised, before it clicks and his jaw drops.

 

“You and Jerome…?” he asks incredulously.

 

“No, no,” Mario denies a bit too quickly. “We’re not… a _thing_ or anything.”

 

“But you like him. Oh, God, of course you do.”

 

Mario hides his face in his hands.

 

“Mario, that’s…” But André never finishes that, so Mario doesn’t know if he was going for _amazing_ , _ridiculous_ or _gross_. He is not the kind to go for the latter, but right now, Mario is afraid of everything.

 

“Does he know?” André asks instead.

 

Mario shakes his head.

 

“I mean, I haven’t told him. But it’s… it’s really confusing, you know? Sometimes it looks mutual and then it doesn’t and I have no idea what he’d do if I told him and…” Mario sighs. “And I sound incredibly childish right now.”

 

André pats his ankles, smiling slightly. “It’s fine. You’re allowed to have a crush. I mean, I didn’t expect it to be Jerome, but still.” He thinks for a little while. “And honestly, it looks pretty mutual to me,” he adds then, with a smile.

 

Mario tries not to panic. _Suppress, conceal, push away._

 

“I can’t be sure of that and I am honestly way too scared to do anything right now. Just… let it be while I figure this out, okay?” he says after a pause, and André nods earnestly. “Thank you. And sorry for constantly disappearing.”

 

“You have a good reason,” André replies with a smile, getting up. He ruffles Mario’s hair and gets up. “Don’t worry too much, okay? These things tend to work themselves out.”

 

Mario nods, but when André leaves, he keeps worrying.

 

*

 

He’s on the bench for the majority of the game against France, but it’s not all that bad, because Mats puts them ahead very quickly and it stays that way. It’s mostly just entertaining, a pretty even game with chances on both sides, but he realises several times that he has no idea where the ball even is because he’s focused on Jerome. It’s honestly a bit embarrassing, but he looks really good in white, okay? Jerome catches his eye a couple of times and smiles at him.

 

It’s driving him nuts.

 

He’s bouncing in his seat most of the second half, so the fact that Jogi puts him in, even if it’s for less than ten minutes, is actually pretty great. He needs to run and play this weird energy off. And he does so, steering clear of Jerome most of the time. His focus is really off, he can’t let that carry on to the pitch.

 

Everything goes well and when the final whistle sounds, officially declaring them semifinalists, Mario turns towards Jerome almost out of reflex. He’s smiling at him again and holding his arms open, so Mario jogs over to hug him.

 

“We’re almost there,” Jerome says into his ear. “We’re gonna do this.”

 

Mario believes for a while that they actually will and holds Jerome for a little longer. He blushes when they part and Jerome runs a thumb over his cheek.

 

*

 

The game against Brazil is his biggest regret - he would have loved to be a part of the insanity that took place on that pitch. Instead, he sits on the bench again, and gapes along with the others when they go from a 1-0 to 5-0 lead in the space of six minutes. They had expected this to be insanely difficult, a true challenge from one of the biggest football nations and one of the best teams in the world. But is team is incredible, they are all amazing, and Mario needs to make sure he’s not dreaming. This is the semi-final against Brazil, who have the advantage of the home crowd, but Germany absolutely annihilates them.

 

That night is euphoric. They are all a little bit confused about what just happened, but ecstatic nevertheless. Jerome almost bounces next to Mario on the way back to Campo Bahia. He is on the Thomas Müller level of excitement, and Thomas Müller himself has ascended to a new plane of enthusiasm. It’s hilarious and a bit scary to watch.

 

It doesn’t calm down too much when they reach Campo Bahia. Everyone is still laughing and talking, some of the guys (probably Per and Thomas and Manu) are singing, even. Jerome and Mario walk towards their houses side by side, a bit more quiet than everyone else. When the moment comes that they should separate, Mario turns to his friend for a goodnight hug, but Jerome’s already looking at him.

 

“Stay with me,” he says, sounding a tiny bit shy, and holds out a hand.

 

Mario doesn’t even consider saying no to him, even though his stomach is turning.

 

They settle under the covers, facing each other this time, and hold each other close. Neither of them says anything, they just look at each other for a while. Jerome looks unsure of something, worried, even, but Mario doesn’t dare ask, because he only got this look when he had to face him just now. Whatever’s on his mind has something to do with Mario, and Mario is terrified of finding out what it is.

 

So, after a long while of staring at each other, he slides in closer, puts his head against Jerome’s chest and an arm around his waist.

 

“Good night,” he whispers. Jerome replies with the same.

 

And that would be it if Mario hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night. But he has, and for a while, he’s unsure of what woke him. Then, he feels it again. Gentle fingers pushing his hair from his forehead, sliding through his hair, stopping at the nape of his neck. Then they move to his shoulder, follow his arm as far as they can reach. Then, they travel down his side. Then, they run up and down his back. Mario needs to try very hard to stay still and not give it away that he’s awake - he’s pretty sure that if Jerome knew he was no longer asleep, he’d stop.

 

Mario doesn’t want him to stop.

 

It lasts for a little while longer, these gentle touches against his skin, and then Jerome does stop. After a quiet sigh, Mario feels lips against his forehead, lingering for way longer than any of Jerome’s numerous platonic kisses. Then, everything is quiet and still again.

  
Except for Mario’s heart. Mario hopes Jerome can’t hear it hammering. _Hewantsthishewantsthishewantsthis_ is on repeat in his head, and he’s both relieved and terrified.  


	7. finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco channels Shia LaBeouf and the dumb puppies get around to, well, doing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 2 more chapters to go in the next two days! If you like this, I'd love to read your comments - they always make me so happy (:

Over the next few days, Mario’s anxiety rises exponentially. He’s not sure if he’ll play in the final, and, well, _they’re in the final_ , and Jerome seems anxious, too. They don’t get a lot of time to the two of them anymore, the trainings and the (also anxious) teammates looking for company taking up a lot of their time. Whenever they’re near each other, though, it’s as if they’re glued to each other. Jerome touches more and longer than he used to, and his smiles are somehow sadder. Mario clings onto him with every hug, too scared for _don’t worry, I want this too_ to fall over his lips. Just thinking of that conversation makes him nervous as hell.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Marco asks him during another one of their phone calls.

 

“I’m terrified, Marco! I mean, what if I still got this wrong somehow? This is not a friendship I want to lose! Plus, I mean, we play for the best club in Germany-” Mario rolls his eyes at the squawk Marco lets out at that statement. “How would that even work? And he’s got _daughters_ , oh my god!”

 

Marco laughs humourlessly. “As long as you’re both in Bayern, it’s no problem. I mean, at least you didn’t fall for Mats or something. Imagine coordinating _that_.”

 

Mario ignores Marco’s attempt at a joke. “Yeah, but we might be World Cup winners in a few days! It’s not gonna work. It’s not going to. No way.”

 

“Mario, shut your dumb mouth,” Marco says sincerely, and Mario is rather surprised at the straightforward approach. He doesn’t get to argue, because Marco goes on to lecture him.

 

“Will you stop talking yourself out of this? Let yourself have something good, God damn it! What the fuck does it matter if you’re famous footballers or not? If you like him and he likes you, the rest can be figured out somehow. If you’re seriously considering letting yourself be unhappy because of what the media will think or whatever, you’re a dumb asshole. _Go for it_. You don’t want this to turn into some huge sad ball of angst and mutual pining.”

 

Mario snorts. “Yeah, bit too late for that, I think.” If the pining is indeed mutual, it’s a jackpot already.

 

“Then _break that ball_ , you dipshit. If this goes on for too long, you’ll both get messed up. Keeping that shit in isn’t gonna help anybody.”

 

Mario sighs. He knows that Marco’s right, but telling Jerome still seems impossible.

 

“I’ll figure this out,” he promises.

 

“Yeah, you have to,” Marco replies drily, but then his voice softens. “Honestly, Mario, as your best friend and all, I love you and I want you to not be messed up.”

 

“Yeah,” is Mario’s reply. After a few seconds of silence, he adds, “Thanks again. And I’m sorry for freaking out.”

 

“Don’t apologise, dumbass. I signed up for this.”

 

Mario feels marginally better when he hangs up.

 

*

 

They leave Campo Bahia on the eleventh, to go to Rio, to play in the World Cup final. It still seems like a weird combination of words, and leaving their home for the past month is also pretty weird. Mario spends another hour in the hammock Jerome and him shared once when his things are packed and reminisces. It’s been such an amazing time and such an amazing place and these memories will stay with him for a very very long time. All of the travels here after victories, all their playful trainings and the team spirit that is so alive right now that they simply _have_ to win this tournament. And the hike to the ocean, the afternoon in this very hammock, lounging by the pool, the nights spent cuddled up… It’s odd how much of this World Cup is Jerome to him now.

 

When they leave, he stands next to Jerome on the ferry and can’t help but feel incomplete somehow.

 

*

 

The last night before the final is unbearable. They watch the third place match all together, but the anxiety is tangible - everyone’s a bit nervous in the face of the final. Mario chews on his nails and finds it hard to focus. He wants to play so bad, wants to help his team win that trophy, but the insecurity washes over him in increasingly terrifying waves. He’s not sure if he’s good enough to play, and the more he ponders over it, the more he thinks he isn’t. Jerome can sense it, can feel the tapping of his foot against the floor. After a while, he reaches out both hands, one to pull Mario’s nails away from his teeth and the other to settle on his twitchy knee. He looks at Mario for a long time.

 

“Sorry,” Mario says before Jerome can open his mouth. “I’m just… nervous.”

 

Jerome’s worried and slightly annoyed expression softens. “I know. We all are. You’ll be fine.” He slips one hand off Mario’s knee, but the other is still holding his fingers. He casts a glance at the screen. The game is still on, but it’s pretty clear that the Netherlands are gonna win this. “Come on,” he says and gets up, pulling Mario with him. Mario follows him without a word, holding on tightly to his hand - doesn’t even think of refusing. He’s not very good at saying no to Jerome.

 

They end up in their corridor. It’s all quiet, the inhabitants of all these rooms in front of the TV. Jerome, Mario’s hand still in his grasp, walks to his bed, then lets go to take off his shorts and slip under the covers. Mario does the same, ends up pressed close to Jerome, looking up at him a little bit.

 

“Talk to me,” Jerome whispers.

 

Mario takes a few seconds to conjure up a few sentences, but they end up still being a bit disjointed. “I’m nervous about tomorrow. Like, I want to play, but I don’t know if me playing is a good thing? I don’t think… I’m not the best player here, and I don’t want to be the one to cost us the Cup. I just... feel like I’m not good enough.”

 

His eyes look past Jerome when he talks, but when he turns his gaze back to him, there is a fire in Jerome’s eyes.

 

“You are absolutely good enough, Mario,” he begins. “You’ve done so much already, and I know how good you can be. And if we win, we _all_ win, even those who don’t step out there. And if we lose, we _all_ lose. No one would make you the scapegoat.” His hands now cup Mario’s cheeks and their noses are about a hair’s width apart. “Don’t put yourself down, because you’re amazing, okay? I’ve seen it, and you absolutely deserve to play tomorrow.”

 

He stops talking, but doesn’t pull away. He’s still so terrifyingly close, and the emotion in his eyes isn’t fading. Mario looks away for a second, blinks away the mistiness in his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Jerome says nothing, just keeps looking at him.

 

And slowly, the atmosphere shifts. The raging fire in Jerome’s eyes settles down into a warm flame and Mario’s stomach begins to feel funny. He doesn’t dare say a single word, just keeps looking at Jerome, his breathing quickening. He has an idea of what this will lead to, and with every second that Jerome doesn’t move, the idea solidifies.

 

He wants it to happen.

 

He wants it to happen _so bad_.

 

So, after a long time of looking at each other, he lifts his hand and rests it on Jerome’s waist. With the first gentle touch, Jerome flinches, but then leans slightly upwards until Mario lets his hand settle. The eye contact is getting nearly torturous now, the amount of emotion pouring out of them increasingly difficult to handle. Both of them are still too shy to get this over with, so it goes on for a long time.

 

Finally, Jerome shifts his body closer to Mario’s so they’re touching from chest to toes. Mario lets out a shaky breath and Jerome closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, the question is perfectly clear in his gaze.

 

Mario lets out the tiniest of nods and then, _finally_ , Jerome’s lips are on his.

 

It’s the gentlest, most innocent kiss and lasts for only a little while, but Mario’s insides feel like they’re imploding and exploding all at once. This is the culmination, the pinnacle of this month of dancing around each other. They both want this, have wanted it for a while, and now, the relief and the happiness Mario feels is incomparable to anything he’s ever felt.

 

Jerome finally pulls away to look at Mario for a while. Mario’s lips stretch into a grin and Jerome matches it immediately before kissing him again. This one is deeper, less testing boundaries and more expressing emotion, and Mario’s brain shuts off pretty much completely. He blindly melts into one with Jerome, lets everything else fade into the background, into near-nonexistence, and kisses him back with all he can give. It lasts for a long time, or at least it feels like it does, and yet it never goes past a kiss. Mario doesn’t want to rip Jerome’s remaining clothes off just yet; for now, this is enough to deal with.

 

When they finally break apart, it’s to the sounds of the others in the hallway - the game must have ended, then. Jerome smiles at him, and he looks relieved.

 

“We’ll talk about this when we win, okay?” he whispers, and Mario nods with a smile at the _when_. Jerome kisses him again, then wraps his arms around him.

  
Mario falls asleep quickly, the tranquility and relief winning over the adrenaline beating in his system.


	8. you did it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly me being emotional about the World Cup final. But, of course, from a Boatze viewpoint, featuring kisses and daughters and bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the culmination - tomorrow's last chapter is more of an epilogue of sorts, or officiating, I guess. I'm so happy you're reading this; if you are, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. (:

Mario wakes up the next morning to Jerome pressing kisses into his hair and running his fingers along his side. Jerome’s smile is uncertain for a second when he looks into Mario’s eyes, but he relaxes when Mario pulls him down for a kiss. They take a while, making out almost lazily, until someone shouts something in the hallway. Jerome pulls away, running his tongue over his lips while looking down at Mario.

 

“You should go, probably,” he whispers and laughs when Mario groans at that. “Come on, you butt, get up,” he says, shoving him towards the edge of the bed. Mario finally gets up, rolling his eyes.

 

“I thought making out with you gave me some privileges,” he grumbles, pulling on his pants. Jerome eyes him lazily, resting his chin on one arm.

 

“The privilege is that you get to make out with me,” he replies and catches his own pants that Mario throws at him.

 

“Dick,” Mario says, but steps closer with a gooey smile anyway. Jerome leans up for a kiss, and Mario was going to tease him, but he can’t help it and obliges.

 

“See you at breakfast,” he whispers before pulling away.

 

Not a lot has changed, he thinks when he settles down in the breakfast table next to Jerome. He knows what Jerome’s long looks mean now, and the angst is gone, but the two of them are still largely the same. Jerome makes fun of him and Mario calls him names and Jerome lifts Mario’s plate so high he can’t reach it and Mario pokes at his stomach until he relents. Only, when they’re finishing off their smoothies, Jerome fingers grab hold of his under the table, and when they leave the dining hall, Jerome presses a kiss to his neck when nobody’s around, then smiles at him like a lovesick teenager, which is what Mario feels like, as well.

 

It’s a good change.

 

For a while, Mario manages to forget that the biggest game of his life is just hours away, but Jogi drags him down to earth with surprising speed. Jerome squeezes his shoulder when the starting eleven is announced and Mario’s name is not on it.

 

“He’ll sub you in,” he says with absolute confidence.

 

*

 

Before Jerome goes to the players’ corridor and into his gamezone, he walks over to Mario. Mario manages to keep the slight bitterness out of his voice when he wishes him good luck. Jerome sneaks a kiss to his cheek, then hugs him tightly.

 

“See you out there,” he whispers when they separate.

 

Mario hopes he will.

 

Watching the game is pure agony. He’s on the edge of his seat the whole time, wanting nothing more than to get out there. He yells at Toni’s mistake that could have been a goal, he gapes at Christoph’s collision and subsequent subbing off, he groans when Benni’s header hits the post, he hisses every time Basti falls down to the ground. And he doesn’t let out a sound whenever he looks at Jerome, but he is _so good_ tonight and Mario is so proud of him.

 

When Jogi tells him to warm up a short twenty minutes before the end of normal time, he looks almost lost for a second before jumping off the bench. Jerome had been right, he gets to go in there after all! When he finds out it’s Miro he’s replacing, he fully realises his task and nervousness hits him again, but the combination of Jogi’s pep talk, Miro’s sincere gaze and kind words when they swap places and Jerome’s tired yet victorious smile help him get past it.

 

He wasn’t expecting to change anything the last few minutes of normal time, so his frustration is not quite the same as the others’, those who have played at their hardest for ninety minutes already. He focuses on breathing in and out, tries to become one with the pitch. Jogi’s little speech is ten percent strategy and ninety percent encouragement, and it’s all getting a bit hazy now.

 

They play for fifteen minutes and nothing changes. This is headed for penalties, and although Mario has absolute confidence in Manu’s goalkeeping skills, he wants this to end as soon as possible. They gather round for a few more minutes for water and overall revitalisation, and Jogi uses the time to encourage Mario a bit more. It’s working wonders for his ego. When Jogi lets him go, Mario sends a slightly worried glance to Jerome who’s lying on the ground, his chest moving up and down quickly, getting his thighs massaged, but Jerome replies with a reassuring smile.

 

Basti is a true warrior in the last fifteen minutes, picking up knock after knock and still coming back, blood and pain be damned. Mario is in awe of him like he hasn’t been for a while. He rises above the teammate status, proving his title of Fußballgott again and again. Their whole team is distraught that the Argentines don’t get disciplined for what they do; even the bench is getting restless. They don’t want to lose Basti in the face of what is looking more and more like a penalty shootout.

 

Basti has just returned to the pitch, his bloody face cleaned and patched up, when they get the break. They’ve been passing the ball around for a little while when Toni sends it forward to André. Mario looks around and suddenly senses an opportunity. He makes a run for the centre and André catches his eye, a look of determination appearing on his face. There’s no one properly marking Mario just yet, so they need to do it _right now_. André sends the ball flying in a smooth arc, and Mario knows right away that he can take it down. It bounces off his chest and blue shirts are approaching, so Mario sends the ball flying with the second touch.

 

It hits the mark.

 

Mario feels dizzy when he gets up and starts running. The stadium is cheering, the deafening roar the only thing he can hear. Thomas catches him by the neck and it hits him now.

 

He scored a goal, the goal in a World Cup final.

 

He’s enveloped in a hug, surrounded entirely by his friends and teammates yelling incoherently. He’s petted and hugged and touched and slapped and smooched and it feels a bit surreal, disconnected from reality. The others pull back after a while, his captain and André staying for a while longer to congratulate him.

 

“You did it, you did it, you did it!” André yells, and Mario’s grin is so wide it hurts.

 

And Jerome is walking towards Mario now, so Mario barely notices Thomas’ congratulations - his eyes are focused on his best friend and maybe more.

 

“I can’t believe you, you asshole, you did it,” he yells. Mario yells right back at him, and Jerome bumps their foreheads together. Mario wants to kiss him senseless, but this will have to do.

 

The last minutes are pure anxiety. The 120 minutes are up already when Basti takes Messi down and hurts himself in the process. It drags on and on, the free kick, and Mario’s heart is in his throat when Messi stands behind that ball. If he scores, they probably go to penalties. If he doesn’t…

 

Winning seems surreal, even though they’re in the lead.

 

Messi missing is such a relief that Mario’s knees get a bit weak.

 

Basti manages to get hurt once more before, finally, the whistle sounds. Mario feels a bit shocked. The emotion in his head - no, in his entire body - is like the one from the goal all over again, multiplied by a hundred - they’ve won, they’ve done it.

 

Mario’s done it.

 

They fall all over each other, form a puppy pile of hugs and yelling. Everyone comes to hug him, congratulate him again.

 

It’s a haze of faces and hugs and smiles and the occasional tear, but finally, Mario finds Jerome again. He has sat down for a second, emotions getting the better of him. The relief and euphoria is honestly a bit exhausting. But when he sees Jerome walking towards him with the gentlest smile on his face, he gets up without even thinking about it.

 

Jerome holds his face in his hands, leans his forehead against Mario’s a lot more carefully this time round.

 

“I want to kiss you so much right now,” he says relatively quietly. “I knew it would be you, I fucking knew it! You’re amazing. You’re so amazing.”

 

Mario is so completely in love with him, and it’s not even a terrifying realisation with everything else that’s going on right now. It feels... right.

 

After a little while, the families get to come to the pitch. Jerome puts a hand on the small of Mario’s back, guides him towards the two little girls who are looking around with awe and mild confusion. Mario looks up at Jerome with something similar on his face.

 

“They’ll love you,” Jerome says, and then breaks into the biggest grin when his daughters run towards him. He catches them both and lifts them up, kisses both of their cheeks. Then, he turns to face Mario.

 

“You remember Mario, right?” he asks. Mario is not sure if they will - they’ve only met a few times - but Lamia reaches out for him instantly. With slightly shaky hands, Mario takes him from Jerome. Lamia puts his head on Mario’s shoulder, wraps her little arms around his neck.

 

“See?” Jerome says, his smile very smug, and Mario smiles at both him and Soley. The other twin’s smile is a lot like her father’s, warm and kind. Mario reaches out a hand and Soley shakes it.

 

Jerome actually leaves the girls to his care for a while, and Mario discovers they like him quite a lot Soley climbs on his back, wraps her arms around his neck and giggles in his ear when Mario spins around. Lamia insists on touching his cheeks, so Mario crouches down to get on her level. He sends a glance towards Jerome, and the unmistakable love in the look he gets in return makes him giddy. He lies down for a while and lets Lamia sit on his stomach.

 

It’s nice until Soley joins her sister and they start bouncing up and down. Mario tickles them both until they roll off and all three of them laugh.

 

And then it’s finally medal time. They form the honor guard for Argentina, and Mario, now with Marco’s jersey in his hands, looks at Jerome on the other side before joining him. Jerome ruffles his hair and pulls him close.

 

“I still can’t believe it,” he says to Mario, and Mario laughs.

 

“Which part?” he asks with a smirk, and Jerome laughs.

 

“All of it,” he replies, and Mario doesn’t know if he means the victory or whatever is between them now, but both are pretty incredible. He simply smiles in response.

 

“What’s that?” Jerome asks, pointing at the jersey. Mario lifts it up to show him the name on the back. Jerome smiles gently.

  
“That’s very sweet of you,” he says.

  
“Well, he deserves it. He’s part of the team, and he was my moral support… And not just in football matters.”

 

Jerome smiles knowingly.

 

“I think I need to pass on my thanks, too,” he replies with a grin. Mario laughs, but nods anyway.

 

After Argentina gets their medals and all of them look very sad the whole time, Germany has to line up for theirs. Jerome is pressed against Mario’s back most of the time, pointing out something or other in the stadium or just talking, and Mario is so glad he gets to share this with him.

 

He gets his medal, shiny and golden, and then Jerome does, and they join their teammates in this happy nervous waiting.

  
Finally Philipp is handed the trophy and the anticipation is tangible in these last few seconds before the explosion. Mario holds his breath when Philipp takes the last few steps to join his team, and as soon as he lifts the trophy, everything is bliss and celebration and touches and smiles and confetti. Jerome is right there and everyone else is right there and _they have won the World Cup_. Mario has had the tournament of his dreams, a World Cup to remember on the pitch and off. He waves Marco’s jersey in the air and smiles when Jerome hugs him from behind for just a few precious seconds.


	9. our night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrations, revelations and the Brazilian sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! It is done, and on time, too! This is shorter than the others, but it's just undiluted fluff. Just completely pure fluff. I wish I was sorry.
> 
> (I'd love to write a companion piece to this one day because some of this would be great from Jerome's POV, but no promises.)
> 
> Thank you to all of you who read this! I hope you liked it; if you did, please leave a comment because they make me so happy. I love you all and thank you again. (:

After so incredibly many photos and celebrations in the stadium, they crowd on the bus to go back to their hotel for the afterparty. Jerome stays close to Mario, touching him at all times, and they manage to sit (and at times stand) next to each other. They’re a part of this mess of singing and dancing and deliriously happy men, but Mario can’t help but just sing at Jerome most of the time. It would feel more like a serenade if it wasn’t excitedly half-yelling “Deutschlaaaaand! Deutschlaaaand!” or “Die nummer eins der Welt sind wir!” over and over again, but it’ll do, mostly because Jerome still has stars in his eyes and he’s half-yelling right back at him.

 

They reach their hotel, still singing and jumping, and Mario realises that when he tries to remember this later, in years, even, it will be a haze; he’s not gonna remember the expressions on his teammates’ faces or the exact songs they’re singing, but it will be a ball of emotion, a thoroughly positive and bright memory. Even now, the goal he scored not too long ago is a blur of colour and jitters, nothing is clear in his head. But he’s okay with that. He’s happy that this is what he gets to keep from all of this. It feels more than enough.

 

They’re Germans, so alcohol happens pretty quickly and only adds to the euphoria they’re all feeling. Some of them move on from singing to dancing. Mario looks at Per doing some extraordinary dad dancing, his medal tied around his head, and decides with a laugh that he’s not drunk enough to join him and Musti. Instead, he has another drink, takes a selfie with Rihanna of all people, and generally enjoys the celebrations. Every now and then, someone comes up to him and thanks him in increasingly slurred words, praises his feet and ruffles his hair. Mario is torn between thinking of himself as the hero of the evening and knowing it was totally a team effort.

 

They drift together and apart for a while, occasionally flirting via sly glances, but it’s a lot later until Mario and Jerome have some semblance of privacy. Everyone is slowly quieting down, now, the adrenaline wearing off and the alcohol kicking in, and Mario finds Jerome sitting (well, lazily lounging) on a bench on a balcony. He plops down next to him, ignoring a flashback of the hammock and the tingle in his stomach.

 

“Hello, Weltmeister Mario Götze,” Jerome greets him, and Mario laughs.

  
“Hello, Weltmeister Jerome Boateng,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

 

“So good,” Jerome says after a few seconds, eyes on the sky. “Everything is right. We won the World Cup, and I’ve spent an amazing month in Brazil, and…” He turns his gaze back to Mario. “And you.”

 

Mario plays with his fingers that rest between the two of them.

 

“We won,” he murmurs. “Do we talk about this now?”

 

Jerome takes Mario’s hand, squeezes his fingers and thinks for a pretty long time.

 

“I want this,” he finally says, sounding almost scarily sober, and turns his gaze to their joined hands. “I’ve wanted this for weeks. I’ve wished this for… I don’t know how long. You’re just… You’re so good to be with. And every time I try to think reasonably, I realise I don’t care all that much? I like you so-so much, and the girls like you, too, and that’s all that matters to me, honestly.” He looks up again, and smiles a little at the emotion in Mario’s eyes. Mario guesses he’s seeing the same mixture of affection and excitement and peace that’s currently bouncing around in his head.

 

“It might be complicated, though,” he says, looking away for a little while. “I mean, we can’t exactly be open about this.”

 

“I’m fine with that,” Jerome replies very quickly. “Listen, I’ve thought about all of this. I was sure of what I felt before you were, you know. Don’t worry about a thing.” He’s quiet for a second, then adds a bit shyly: “Let’s make this just about us, okay?”

 

Mario nods almost without thinking.

 

“Yeah, just us,” he repeats, inching closer to Jerome. Then he thinks for a few seconds. “Though I should probably tell Marco. And André.”

 

Jerome laughs. “Did you tell all your friends?” he asks, grinning, and Mario shoves a finger between his ribs.

 

“I needed a confidant. And André just squeezed it out of me! “ After a moment, he adds, “Plus, David doesn’t know yet.”

 

Jerome is still grinning.

 

“We did shack up,” he says. “David’s going to be furious.” Mario looks down, laughing quietly. So Jerome never let that joke slide, after all. He means to add on to the joke, but when he looks up, there’s a stupid smirk on Jerome’s face. “You told your friends you had a crush on me,” he says, so _annoyingly smug_ , and Mario squints at him, choosing to say nothing. Jerome’s picking on him and he doesn’t like it.

 

“You have a crush on me.” Jerome’s next sentence is no longer smug or teasing. It sounds like a revelation, and Jerome holds his hand a bit tighter, his smile now so much more gentle. Mario drops the offended attitude, too.

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than a crush,” he says quietly, meaning to look away, but suddenly, Jerome is gripping his chin with his free hand, looking right at him, only inches away.

 

“Me, too,” he replies, voice near a whisper. “I’m not making grand statements while drunk and high on adrenaline, but it’s definitely more than a crush.”

  
“Good,” Mario says, his own smile turning smug now. “I’m not risking my career for a crush.”

 

Jerome simply laughs. “Do you think anyone will mind if we just make out here for a half an hour or something?” he asks, looking at Mario in a peculiar way. He looks almost hungry.

 

Even though that’s the very definition of risking their career, Mario isn’t bothered by it.

 

“I know _I_ definitely won’t mind,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. Jerome’s smile is warm when he leans closer to Mario.

 

“This is _our_ night, after all,” he says quietly, slipping his hand around Mario’s waist. “I think I’m allowed to kiss my partner.”

 

Mario’s face flushes even more than it already has at the title Jerome bestows on him. So, it’s official. Mario is Jerome’s partner, and Jerome is his. They’re _partners_. It sounds better than ‘boyfriends’, honestly.

 

It sounds like more than a crush.

 

“I think you are, too,” he replies with a smile, and Jerome mirrors it before gently putting his fingers on Mario’s chin again. He looks at Mario for a few seconds, and Mario guesses he’s holding back the same words Mario is. Those are for sober times, for moments unaffected by alcohol and sentimentality and adrenaline. And those might still need some time.

 

So, they just kiss under the dark Brazilian sky. This is their night, they’re on top of the world, and there’s no better way to celebrate. Mario slides his fingers to Jerome’s neck and leans in closer, and Jerome wraps his arms around him tightly. It’s grounding, in a way, tethering - Mario’s erratic brain slows down, allows him to finally process things properly for a while.

  
Everything else that happened tonight might be a haze, but this kiss, Mario will remember forever.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! all feedback is so incredibly appreciated and you can find me on [tumblr](http://gotzeidank.tumblr.com), if you want to (:


End file.
